Shadow Moon

by Gaja J. Kos

  No, they had to have received a bloody fat check to keep a low profile and further Schultz’s agenda.

  The one thing I couldn’t figure out, though, was why he had it in for the HSC. Maybe I was simply overthinking it. Traditional vampires had stirred a lot of shit in the pre-War era, which made me believe there was something inherently wrong with all supes who had a soft spot for the old-school, predatory ways of life. Schultz had never struck me as one, but then again, neither had the twentyfourhourlies as a whole. And still quite a few of the mainstream daylight vamps had chosen to march with the opposition during the battle.

  I sighed. Things rarely turned out to be black and white.

  And I was intent on discovering Schultz’s shades of gray.

  I ventured over to the filing cabinets dominating the northern wall and started rummaging through the first drawer.

  His motive wasn’t important. Not really. I only had to find a godsdamned paper trail confirming what I knew to be the truth.

  My boss had orchestrated this whole fucking thing.

  The police thought I made the perfect suspect since I ticked off a few boxes.

  Schultz got them all.

  He not only had unrestricted access to all the players and places within the Zentrum, but was in possession of enough money to pay off the sleazeballs producing Nill. Being the head of the compound, as well as the Munich Games, it hadn’t been exactly difficult for him to find out just who he needed to get out of the way for his players to succeed.

  The last ones being Alec and me.

  The Klein and Fischer duo must have been his fail-safe in the event that Schwab and Schwarzmann failed to take the cream in the singles. The latter had come close, but not close enough.

  Too many automatic advances into the next round would have raised eyebrows. Even two had been enough to catch my eye.

  Schultz had no way of ensuring the finals for Schwarzmann after everything he’d already done. Fischer and Klein, on the other hand… Solid players with competition of a far lesser magnitude. Or at least it would have been if Alec and I hadn’t registered at the last minute.

  Honestly, I was surprised and relieved we were even still breathing. Because all of this—it was fucking cold.

  Since nothing in the files stood out and my restlessness kicked it up a notch, I moved over to Schultz’s desk. Briefly, I scanned the match on the flat-screen TV—far higher quality than what the rest of us had—mounted on the wall.

  They were already three games in. Not much, but enough to remind me that my time here was limited.

  I swore under my breath, then devoted my attention to the shallow drawers. I skimmed through the majority of them before focusing on the two deeper ones he had under lock and key. But aside from a few documents pertaining to the Zentrum and the Games—nothing illegal, as far as I could tell—there just wasn’t any evidence. Shit. Chewing on my bottom lip, I glanced around the office, then frowned.

  For a man who ran the entire Olympiapark Tennis-Zentrum, there was surprisingly little in the way of ledgers. Aside from the wall-to-wall line of filing cabinets and his desk, the rest of the room was practically bare.

  Mine, in comparison, looked as if a hurricane passed through it. And that was on a good day.

  I narrowed my eyes, seeing the space in another light. I’d never noticed how sterile it all seemed, but given I was usually too busy trying to find my way out of an unexpected workload Schultz tried to throw my way, it was understandable the detail slipped my attention. Looking at it now, however…

  Schultz was either a slob who didn’t keep paper copies of digital documents and preferred to have everything stored on his personal laptop—which, of course wasn’t here—or he had some old-school hiding place set up within his walls.

  Somehow, I was betting—or maybe just hoping—on the latter.

  I closed my eyes and breathed deeply, sifting through the scents. The light fragrance of paper and ink was nearly overpowering, rivalled only by the tang of the faux, and slightly faded, plants resting on the wide windowsill.

  But underneath it—steel.

  Curious, I padded over to the meticulously framed diplomas set in symmetrical lines on the wall and took down the largest of the lot. I grinned.

  A safe was staring back at me—a thin, state-of-the-art thing. Thanks to listening to Greta snarl over her fifth pitcher of beer about how unfair it was she had to study the tools of a thief when she joined ICRA as an asset in the more physical combatant field of the organization, I recognized the make. If memory served me right, the safe was protected by a combination of code and key, but this particular model with a red-lined keypad came with one massive flaw.

  Frankly, the only reason I remembered it at all was because I thought it was absolutely ridiculous that someone would pay thousands of euros on something that could be cracked by applying pressure onto three separate, if very specific points.

  Those same points I now felt out with my fingers.

  Sweat broke out on my brow as I poured my strength into the damned task, making sure to push just hard enough to mess up the wiring while not actually breaking the safe and sending it into its screeching state. It felt like forever had passed, but the snick that caressed my ears afterwards was worth the years of my life the anxiety had undoubtedly shaved off.

  Loosening a breath, I opened the safe door and peered inside. My eyes first caught on the watches set in a neat line out front. Carefully, I pushed them aside, grimacing just a little at how tacky they looked, then ventured deeper.

  A fat stack of ledgers was pressed against the wall. I pulled the first one out, skimmed its contents, then repeated the process with the next in line.

  By the fifth time I went through the same motion, my irritation was starting to get the better of me. Shit, I’d been so certain there would be something here… I tossed the ledger aside, but when it ended with its backside facing me, I noticed something embossed in the leather.

  The letter N, a laurel extending around its top.

  My pulse rammed up in my ears, momentarily drowning out every other sound.

  Nill.

  Snapping out of shock, I pulled the phone from my pocket and snapped a shot, then flipped the ledger open to document every page. The invoices and documents seemed perfectly normal at first glance, but I was willing to bet my ass it was just some clever code they’d devised. Either way, it would do. I got what I came for.

  I closed the camera app once I took the last photo and emailed the lot to myself, then clicked on the message icon to give the green light to the gang.

  I had my connection. And whether Isa liked it or not, Nathaniel wasn’t going to play bait for her. From where I was standing, it looked like she just lost her one argument for putting him in the line of danger.

  My fingers started to tap on the keyboard, but before I could finish the note and press send, a lively scent hit me out of nowhere.

  Followed by a question I really hadn’t wanted to hear.

  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

  22

  I whirled around, the evidence of my snooping as visible as the full moon on a clear night. My boss’s assistant was standing on the threshold, his tight gaze taking it all in.

  The safe. The documents. Me.

  Shit.

  “Evald,” I began, still clutching the now half-forgotten phone in my hands. “Get inside and shut the door behind you. Please.”

  For a brief moment he hesitated, then did as I asked. I scanned the TV, noting with no small amount of relief that the match was still some time from finishing, and let loose a long breath.

  “What are you doing, Lotte?” Evald tried again, a frown line running down the center of his forehead as his gaze flashed to the wide-open safe to my right once more. His gait was cautious, tense, as if I might lash out at any moment.

  Not that it was far from the truth. But I really didn’t want to fight him.

  “Look”—I flinched, knowing well the
re was no smooth way to tackle this but wishing it were otherwise nonetheless—“I know this will probably sound crazy. Even I had a hard time accepting it, but our boss—he’s involved in something that gained ICRA’s attention. Something bad, Evald.”

  “Fuck.” He exhaled and briefly closed his eyes. “I knew it.”

  The tension fled from my spine. I sidestepped a discarded binder and came closer. “You knew something was up?”

  “No.” Evald shook his head, shoulders somewhat slumped, then lifted his gaze to mine. “I knew we should have gone for a kill, not an arrest. But the sentimental asshole didn’t want to off his prized horse.”

  Everything inside me froze, Evald’s every word slicing into my skin like a blade. He’d delivered the statement without any emotion. Only the whispers of a man who regretted not doing what he felt was right had seeped into his tone—and the determination to fix it.

  My hairs stood on end as his scent shifted from nonthreatening to predatory, but at least my heart finally remembered how to beat.

  I ducked behind his blow the split second before it would have collided with the side of my head. My phone slipped from my sweaty fingers and slid across the ground. A growl rumbled in my chest as my body and mind alike caught up with what was happening.

  Evald came at me again. His fangs were on display, and I caught a switchblade manifesting in his right hand. Shit.

  Cursing myself for coming here unarmed, I dropped down low as the vamp swung his arm. The blade’s edge sliced through the air above my head, Evald’s sinewy form twisting over me as he rode the motion, then started to move back. I lashed out with a foot.

  The sole of my Nikes connected with his shin, but the vamp was faster.

  Despite the contact, his control didn’t falter. Fuck, I knew he was capable—a vamp’s genetic makeup made sure of that—but I hadn’t expected this.

  He was a blur of movement and muscle, scent laced with violent excitement.

  With a curse rolling off my lips, I twisted out of his way. Barely.

  My shoulder slammed against the wall next to the safe, the framed diplomas crashing onto the ground and scattering a fuckload of glass shards around my feet. Not a problem at the moment, but I knew that with my luck, that wouldn’t last long.

  I scurried behind the executive desk, feinting left when Evald followed, then overthrowing the whole damn thing. The vamp evaded the desk, but had to retreat to do so.

  Thanks to my snooping, the drawers vomited their contents when they slid open, and I thanked the gods I hadn’t had time to put every file I’d looked through earlier back in its respective place.

  All of it rose into the air until there was a storm of paper rising in the air between us.

  It was the best chance I would get.

  Without waiting a single second longer, I reached for the energy inside me and willed it to spread. The change took me in a rush, shifting bones and sending fur to shoot from my skin until I was standing on all fours and baring my teeth at the vampire who emerged from the chaos.

  Evald moved with frightening grace, but this time, when he charged me, I didn’t move out of the way. The bastard had fangs, as well as a knife, sure. But I was still a Freundenberger.

  Letting go of those last restraints I had placed on my instincts, I unleashed the predator lurking inside. The one who reveled in blood and death as the thrill of the hunt took control, leaving any semblance of humanity behind.

  There were no morals left, no reservations. Instinct took over my mind, my heart, nature in its purest form becoming my only law.

  The survival of the fittest.

  My mouth salivated at his scent. At the challenge.

  I shifted my weight onto my hind legs when Evald was almost on me, muscles tight with power to propel me forward. The instant before it happened, I allowed the vampire to see that darkness in my eyes.

  The certainty in his scent wavered, then sharpened. Reinforcing his resolution to bleed the life out of me.

  But not without adjusting his attack.

  I sensed, more than saw, his abrupt change in tactics.

  His body careened to the side in midair, using the overthrown desk for balance as he edged for my unprotected flank.

  All of it couldn’t have lasted for more than a split second, but my wolf brain missed no detail. This time, it was me who was faster.

  I lunged at Evald, going straight for the kill.

  Reacting with envious speed, he planted his feet firmly on the ground and swung the dagger up in a vicious arc designed to slice my belly in two. I didn’t stop.

  I twisted a little, just enough to keep the blade from hitting anything vital as it sank into my flesh, but other than that didn’t waver from my course. My teeth snapped at his neck the instant I smashed my paws into his chest, bringing him down.

  He thrust his hand up, cutting me deeper—

  Then, there was nothing but blood.

  The gargled scream that rose from Evald died as I ripped out his vocal cords. Skin and sinew dangled from my muzzle, but instead of balking under the weight of what I had done, I tore into him again, mangling his neck until I got to his spine with a satisfying snap.

  His body went limp, the blade slipping back out of my flesh and clattering onto the floor. The wound burned hot, but the pain was only a distant presence in my mind.

  I growled into Evald’s face, into those empty, treacherous eyes that gazed blankly at the ceiling. I vented my anger until I stopped trembling, then pushed off his lifeless body and spat out the flesh still tainting my tongue.

  It was only then that my stomach did a little uneasy roll, but the nausea died down the instant I heard the thud of footsteps vibrating from down the corridor.

  Our scuffle hadn’t gone unnoticed. And if that ICRA agent found me—

  I shifted shape with more force than I had ever put in before, the room spinning around me briefly before everything settled. My clothes were ruined, and despite the protective layer of fur that usually kept the worst of the shit off me once I changed back, I was still streaked with Evald’s blood.

  Discovery seemed like such a trivial matter to concern myself with when there was a chance the agent would just shoot me on sight, looking like this.

  But I didn’t care. I needed to find my phone in this mess and send the damned message. Whatever happened to me after that… Well, I would deal with it when the time came.

  Blood trickled from my wound in warm rivulets, gradually slowing as my werewolf abilities knitted flesh and skin back together.

  I kicked aside the remnants of the broken desk, then dropped on all fours, searching for the phone I knew was somewhere beneath the landslide of documents and glass. I was fairly certain neither of us had kicked it away during our brawl. It had to be right about—

  The muted voice coming from the TV stopped, followed by rich music fluttering quietly from the speakers.

  A shard sliced my palm as I looked up in horror. My hands kept patting the floor for the burner phone’s familiar shape, dread pooling in the pit of my stomach with each new second that I watched the two screens—one showing the report and snippets from the match, the other a live transmission of the court.

  Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

  Klein and Fischer surrendered the match in the second set. And the ceremony…

  Everything inside me stilled yet thrashed at the same time. The officials walked out on the court, all in crisp suits and smiles on their faces.

  The camera zoomed in on them, then stopped on a human with blond hair and thin-rimmed glasses framing his handsome face.

  Nathaniel.

  Nathaniel among them.

  23

  My senses were threatening to break under the thunderstorm of sensory input.

  The footsteps in the hallway. The ceremonial music. The angry rustling of paper and crunching of glass as I rummaged through the office for my phone.

  The phone…

  I let out a strangled cry as I finally felt my
fingers wrap around its rectangular shape. With trembling hands, I swiped the cracked screen, but the damn thing wouldn’t budge.

  Useless fucking technology.

  I tried again, this time on the upper, less damaged half. My breath rushed out of me as it unlocked, but my relief was short-lived.

  A third of the screen was black.

  I snarled, red creeping across the edges of my mind. There was no way I could finish the text with more than half of the fucking keyboard missing.

  Hoping they would catch the meaning anyway, I hit send, thanking the gods when the command worked.

  As I let the stupid, worthless phone fall back down among the rubble, all I could do was pray that it wasn’t too late. That they had gone on with the preparations regardless and would execute the plan as we’d agreed. Crap, I should have never worried about evidence and just got Nathaniel the fuck out of there.

  But he insisted…

  He insisted on not jeopardizing ICRA’s mission.

  Still kneeling, I shifted shape again. On all fours and with a wolf’s freedom of movement, I had a far better chance of breaking through the people I could smell coming ever closer. Unfortunately, it would also make me more vulnerable, with only my claws and teeth for protection.

  I bared said teeth and looked at the TV one last time.

  Nathaniel was standing in line with the rest of the officials—right next to a perfectly calm Schultz. The crowd erupted in a roar as the four finalists trickled out from the corridor beneath the hulking banisters.

  Fischer and Klein both sported zipped-up tracksuits despite the warm weather, the loose fit fucking perfect to conceal a weapon. I knew they hadn’t been frisked. There wasn’t even a bloody metal detector within the players’ area.

  And why would there be?

  We were athletes. The only danger any of us should have posed was a flyaway ball traveling at an injury-inducing speed…

  I should have kept moving, should have rushed outside to throw myself in the thick of it and at least try to make a difference. But I couldn’t tear my gaze from the faint, yet so telling flicker of a smile curling in the corner of my boss’s lips.